


In the Age of the Sculptor

by MASTERcornflake



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Demons, Doom, Fluff, M/M, Marauders, Scars, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MASTERcornflake/pseuds/MASTERcornflake
Summary: The marauder asks the DoomSlayer if he ever removes his helmet and gets his answer.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Marauder(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	In the Age of the Sculptor

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the song “Sculptor” by FEiN 
> 
> Song link if you wanna give it a listen
> 
> TW: Song contains slight body horror this fic does not contain any body horror only some fluff

“Do you ever take your helmet off?” 

The Slayer looked up from his current project of cleaning blood off his chest plate. Honestly, he never really considered about taking his helmet off; it was just a thought that never crossed his mind. Of course, he took it off when he had to brush his teeth and when he showered, but other than that it might as well be glued to his head. Looking over at the marauder, he shrugged and signed back, ‘Sometimes, I guess.’

The marauder was sitting upside down in the Slayer’s gaming chair, his feet draped over the back of the chair while his upside down face gave him a quizzical look, “I guess it’s a weird question.” He went back to watching the man clean his suit’s armor, “Wait, one more question.” 

He sighed and turned to look at the marauder, ‘What?’ 

With a curved claw the demon pointed at the Slayer’s helmet, “Do you have hair?” 

‘Why wouldn’t I have hair?’ The Slayer rolled his eyes under the safety of his helmet. 

“Well I’ve never seen it! I mean that’s not to say anything bad about being bald,” he ran his hand over his own bald head that was spiked with horns, “I never had luck with growing hair and dying didn’t help much.” 

Scooting his little office stool over to the demon, he gave him his fully attention and signed to him, ‘Do you want to see my face?’ 

The marauder moved his legs and turned him self upright to sit in the chair normally, “Oh, if you’d be ok with it.” 

The Slayer reached up to take his helmet off; then, he paused and signed to the demon, ‘I have scars on my face. There are a good bit of em. You know I’m not exactly a looker.’ 

The marauder just laughed, “Well I’m not a looker either,” he motioned to the whole skull faced demon man thing he had going on, “In another life I bet me and you could be models.” 

That actually got a good chuckle out of the Slayer, ‘Models for what?’ 

“Pants that have fake pockets, hoodies that are too short, fancy hats, those little seams inside socks that rub on your toes. Hell, I don’t know.” He waved his hand like a pompous film director. 

The man had his face in his hands howling with laughter. He removed them to quickly sign to the marauder, ‘Oh you’re an ass.’ 

He had a joking grin on his face, “Yeah I know. I’m evil.” 

‘But in all seriousness... do you want to see me?’ 

The marauder shrugged, “I won’t lie. I would like to see you but I’m willing to wait for you to be ready.” 

‘I’m ready now.’ He took the marauder’s hands and guided them to his helmet and together they lifted it up and set it down in the Slayer’s lap. 

The marauder just stared in awe of the man’s face. 

He had skin tanned by the fires of hell. A tan line of his visor gave him a slightly darker patch of skin over his eyes and nose. With one glance at his face and square jawline you could instantly tell he was from the military. Scars tugged his skin taught on his forehead and the left side of his face where a particularly nasty scratch had taken a chunk out of his skin. The scar pulled his mouth ever so slightly to the left, making it look like he had a permanent slight smirk on his face. 

The marauder gently reached out and cupped the man’s face, running his clawed fingers over his scars. 

The Slayer closed his eyes and leaned his head into the tender touch. 

Some of the man’s dark hair brushed against the demon’s hand. His hair was cut short and so soft and fuzzy the marauder used his other hand to gently pet it. 

The Slayer opened his eyes and slowly pulled out of the trance he was put in by the tender touch, ‘See I told you I wasn’t pretty.’ His mouth twitched making the lean of his face to the left more noticeable. 

“Oh hush.” The marauder trailed his hands down to the man’s shoulders, “You look wonderful.” 

The Slayer rolled his eyes. ‘You’re just saying that.’ 

“I mean it!”

‘I look like... like a mindless grunt.’ He reached up and touched his face. 

“Do appearances really matter?” The marauder looked at him with his head tilted to the side. His eyes had a flaming glow of hell fire, his face was sunken in with his lips long gone, four giant horns extended from his skull making his whole face look even more monstrous. He looked the part of a demon through and through, a true monster of the mortal plane, and yet he made the Slayer pancakes this morning and chided him for not brushing his teeth last night. His monstrous form didn’t define him. The marauder leaned in and kissed his soft downy hair. 

The Slayer looked up at him. His confidence in his beauty wasn’t completely restored, but the gentle words and admiration that was showered upon him helped a whole hell of a lot, ‘Thank you.’


End file.
